Blood in the Water
Jul. 5th, 2005 11:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
honoratBy Honorat Selonnet
Pirates of the Caribbean Fic: Just a retelling of the scene in the cave of Isla de Muerta after
Jack has been abandoned by the Interceptor and captured by Barbossa's
crew.
Disclaimer: The movie belongs to Disney, the performances to Johnny
and Jeffrey, the dialogue to Ted and Terry, the envy to me.
* * * * *
Jack stood alone in the midst of a crowd of sixty men he had
not seen for ten years—men with whom he had worked and lived, men at
whose sides he had drunk and fought, men whom he had once commanded.
They surrounded him now with weapons drawn. By the light of burning
torches, he searched their faces and found not one friendly one, not
one free of hatred and bloodlust. They circled him like sharks
moving in for the kill. Every last one of them. It had been ten
years since they had left him to die on that island, ten years for
the scar tissue to grow over that wound. But seeing them now, the
sense of betrayal returned as fresh as a new sword cut, as though
time had frozen for him as well as for them.
They split apart now to open a path for their Captain to
approach their captive. Hector Barbossa strode towards Jack like the
incarnation of old nightmare—the hardest bitten and dirtiest fighter
of a hard bitten and dirty fighting bunch. The slow-acting poison
that had finally spread throughout the Black Pearl. Barbossa had
clawed and slashed his way to the top of this heap of human refuse.
Jack had merely been his final obstacle—and not a particularly
difficult one. Or so Barbossa had thought. As an immortal himself,
captain of a crew of men who could not die, it perhaps shouldn't have
surprised Barbossa to see a dead man standing before him. But he had
been so sure he had sent Jack to his death—to a slow and painful and
very conscious death. There had been nothing on that island. No
food. No water. Yet here the man was, as alive and well and
infuriating as ever. Barbossa stalked up to his former captain,
aware that his men were avidly following this confrontation. He
sneered down at the man he had once dismissed as an impossible
weakling, but who appeared to have reserves of survival Barbossa
couldn't imagine. "How the blazes did you get off that island?" he
demanded incredulously. The crew swiveled to observe what Jack would
answer to this question.
Jack leaned heavily on an oar, his hands crossed over the
blade as though he were perfectly relaxed. He knew the pose would
irritate Barbossa, but that was merely a bonus. Only Jack himself
knew how much that prop was necessary. In reality, he was about
ready to drop with exhaustion and pain. He had not slept for more
than a day. First the battle with the storm, then the treacherous
navigation to Isla de Muerta and through the ship graveyard. He
hadn't dared leave those to anyone else. Then that bloody blacksmith
had cracked him over the head and left him to the mercies of
Barbossa's crew. Jack had no illusions that they would leave him
alive unless he outthought them very quickly. But he could scarcely
think at all. His head pounded like a storm-tide against cliffs.
His vision kept fading to dark and flashing lightning in time to
stabs of pain behind his eyes. And so he clung to the wavering oar
with assumed nonchalance, forcing his shaking fingers to remain
still. And he smiled. One did not bleed in water that swarmed with
sharks.
"When you marooned me on that godforsaken spit of land," he
explained, "you forgot one very important thing, mate." Jack paused
with an orator's instinct for drawing in an audience. All eyes
followed him. Daring to release the oar with at least one hand, he
managed to wave his spread fingers in a shadow of his flamboyant
revelatory gesture. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" he proclaimed, his
voice soft with mock sympathy, his eyes wide with innocent surprise.
His tone implied that surely anyone with the least modicum of
intelligence would never have assumed that anything so ineffectual as
a desert island could slow down the legendary pirate captain, but
beneath the show lay a bitterness that spoke of painful memory and
implacable hatred.
Barbossa heard that steel under those dulcet tones. Stepping
threateningly closer to Jack he replied with equally deceitful
congeniality, "Ah, well, I won't be making that mistake—again."
Jack had returned to gripping the oar with both hands and now
rested his chin on them as well. The effect was remarkably
insouciant as well as practical. He had nearly blacked out with the
extra effort of that little performance and now he was barely holding
on to his upright position.
Resisting the urge to slap that annoying face, Barbossa
turned to his crew. "Gents," he smiled with false civility, "you all
remember Captain Jack Sparrow?" He made the title an insult. The
crew murmured their agreement. It was not a friendly sound. Turning
back to his impassive enemy, Barbossa smirked. But while playing
mind-games with Jack Sparrow was amusing, and hurting him would be
even more amusing, he had no time for such diversions. Sparrow was
obviously too canny and slippery for such indulgence. He was a
problem best solved immediately. Wiping all traces of good humour
from his face, Barbossa spun about and faced the crew again. "Kill
him," he ordered.
The cave echoed with the sound of dozens of pistols being
cocked. Jack found himself looking down the barrels of more firearms
than he was personally comfortable with. He'd been shot before, and
it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Now was the time to
talk fast. Barbossa was walking off as though Jack's death were a
matter of little importance—a disagreeable business best left to
underlings.
Jack lifted his head but didn't raise his voice or change his
slouched position. He knew Barbossa would hear. "The girl's blood
didn't work, did it?" he remarked.
Barbossa froze, his back to Jack. Much as he knew better
than to leave Jack Sparrow alive long enough to say anything at all,
that topic was sufficient to rivet the attention of any of the cursed
pirates. Jack was not acting like a man who knew he held a weak
hand. Why, after all, had he been in this cave anyway? Surely the
disappearance of the girl and the medallion was not unconnected to
his arrival. What had he been up to before he had been captured?
What was he still up to? What information did he possess that gave
him that sublime confidence? While Barbossa knew Jack to be
extremely capable of bluffing, he could not afford to take that
risk. "Hold your fire!" he ordered in exasperation.
The pirates reluctantly lowered their weapons, the sound of
hammers being released filling the cave. Discontented grumblings
rose from their ranks. They'd been looking forward to drilling Jack
so full of holes his hide would never hold water. But necessity
would have to come before pleasure. Barbossa turned to meet Jack
Sparrow's serious dark eyes and faint mocking smile. Whatever he saw
there seemed to decide him, and he stalked towards his greatest
enemy. He nodded, an insincere smile on his face. "You know whose
blood we need," he said. It was not a question.
Jack tilted his head. His voice was even softer, satisfied,
triumphant. Barbossa was his now. "I know whose blood you need." His
slow smile glittered gold in the torchlight—the grin of a single
shark tasting blood in the water.
End
Pirates of the Caribbean Fic: Just a retelling of the scene in the cave of Isla de Muerta after
Jack has been abandoned by the Interceptor and captured by Barbossa's
crew.
Disclaimer: The movie belongs to Disney, the performances to Johnny
and Jeffrey, the dialogue to Ted and Terry, the envy to me.
* * * * *
Jack stood alone in the midst of a crowd of sixty men he had
not seen for ten years—men with whom he had worked and lived, men at
whose sides he had drunk and fought, men whom he had once commanded.
They surrounded him now with weapons drawn. By the light of burning
torches, he searched their faces and found not one friendly one, not
one free of hatred and bloodlust. They circled him like sharks
moving in for the kill. Every last one of them. It had been ten
years since they had left him to die on that island, ten years for
the scar tissue to grow over that wound. But seeing them now, the
sense of betrayal returned as fresh as a new sword cut, as though
time had frozen for him as well as for them.
They split apart now to open a path for their Captain to
approach their captive. Hector Barbossa strode towards Jack like the
incarnation of old nightmare—the hardest bitten and dirtiest fighter
of a hard bitten and dirty fighting bunch. The slow-acting poison
that had finally spread throughout the Black Pearl. Barbossa had
clawed and slashed his way to the top of this heap of human refuse.
Jack had merely been his final obstacle—and not a particularly
difficult one. Or so Barbossa had thought. As an immortal himself,
captain of a crew of men who could not die, it perhaps shouldn't have
surprised Barbossa to see a dead man standing before him. But he had
been so sure he had sent Jack to his death—to a slow and painful and
very conscious death. There had been nothing on that island. No
food. No water. Yet here the man was, as alive and well and
infuriating as ever. Barbossa stalked up to his former captain,
aware that his men were avidly following this confrontation. He
sneered down at the man he had once dismissed as an impossible
weakling, but who appeared to have reserves of survival Barbossa
couldn't imagine. "How the blazes did you get off that island?" he
demanded incredulously. The crew swiveled to observe what Jack would
answer to this question.
Jack leaned heavily on an oar, his hands crossed over the
blade as though he were perfectly relaxed. He knew the pose would
irritate Barbossa, but that was merely a bonus. Only Jack himself
knew how much that prop was necessary. In reality, he was about
ready to drop with exhaustion and pain. He had not slept for more
than a day. First the battle with the storm, then the treacherous
navigation to Isla de Muerta and through the ship graveyard. He
hadn't dared leave those to anyone else. Then that bloody blacksmith
had cracked him over the head and left him to the mercies of
Barbossa's crew. Jack had no illusions that they would leave him
alive unless he outthought them very quickly. But he could scarcely
think at all. His head pounded like a storm-tide against cliffs.
His vision kept fading to dark and flashing lightning in time to
stabs of pain behind his eyes. And so he clung to the wavering oar
with assumed nonchalance, forcing his shaking fingers to remain
still. And he smiled. One did not bleed in water that swarmed with
sharks.
"When you marooned me on that godforsaken spit of land," he
explained, "you forgot one very important thing, mate." Jack paused
with an orator's instinct for drawing in an audience. All eyes
followed him. Daring to release the oar with at least one hand, he
managed to wave his spread fingers in a shadow of his flamboyant
revelatory gesture. "I'm Captain Jack Sparrow!" he proclaimed, his
voice soft with mock sympathy, his eyes wide with innocent surprise.
His tone implied that surely anyone with the least modicum of
intelligence would never have assumed that anything so ineffectual as
a desert island could slow down the legendary pirate captain, but
beneath the show lay a bitterness that spoke of painful memory and
implacable hatred.
Barbossa heard that steel under those dulcet tones. Stepping
threateningly closer to Jack he replied with equally deceitful
congeniality, "Ah, well, I won't be making that mistake—again."
Jack had returned to gripping the oar with both hands and now
rested his chin on them as well. The effect was remarkably
insouciant as well as practical. He had nearly blacked out with the
extra effort of that little performance and now he was barely holding
on to his upright position.
Resisting the urge to slap that annoying face, Barbossa
turned to his crew. "Gents," he smiled with false civility, "you all
remember Captain Jack Sparrow?" He made the title an insult. The
crew murmured their agreement. It was not a friendly sound. Turning
back to his impassive enemy, Barbossa smirked. But while playing
mind-games with Jack Sparrow was amusing, and hurting him would be
even more amusing, he had no time for such diversions. Sparrow was
obviously too canny and slippery for such indulgence. He was a
problem best solved immediately. Wiping all traces of good humour
from his face, Barbossa spun about and faced the crew again. "Kill
him," he ordered.
The cave echoed with the sound of dozens of pistols being
cocked. Jack found himself looking down the barrels of more firearms
than he was personally comfortable with. He'd been shot before, and
it was not an experience he cared to repeat. Now was the time to
talk fast. Barbossa was walking off as though Jack's death were a
matter of little importance—a disagreeable business best left to
underlings.
Jack lifted his head but didn't raise his voice or change his
slouched position. He knew Barbossa would hear. "The girl's blood
didn't work, did it?" he remarked.
Barbossa froze, his back to Jack. Much as he knew better
than to leave Jack Sparrow alive long enough to say anything at all,
that topic was sufficient to rivet the attention of any of the cursed
pirates. Jack was not acting like a man who knew he held a weak
hand. Why, after all, had he been in this cave anyway? Surely the
disappearance of the girl and the medallion was not unconnected to
his arrival. What had he been up to before he had been captured?
What was he still up to? What information did he possess that gave
him that sublime confidence? While Barbossa knew Jack to be
extremely capable of bluffing, he could not afford to take that
risk. "Hold your fire!" he ordered in exasperation.
The pirates reluctantly lowered their weapons, the sound of
hammers being released filling the cave. Discontented grumblings
rose from their ranks. They'd been looking forward to drilling Jack
so full of holes his hide would never hold water. But necessity
would have to come before pleasure. Barbossa turned to meet Jack
Sparrow's serious dark eyes and faint mocking smile. Whatever he saw
there seemed to decide him, and he stalked towards his greatest
enemy. He nodded, an insincere smile on his face. "You know whose
blood we need," he said. It was not a question.
Jack tilted his head. His voice was even softer, satisfied,
triumphant. Barbossa was his now. "I know whose blood you need." His
slow smile glittered gold in the torchlight—the grin of a single
shark tasting blood in the water.
End
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no subject
Date: 2005-07-05 06:46 pm (UTC)Ok. How do people find your story now? Well, you have to follow the instructions on the attachment I sent for Cross Posting.
Here are a few POTC Communities for you to cross post to, but I believe you have to join the community before they allow you to cross post to it. Not hard to join, just click on the link to 'Join Community' in the user info for each of the links I'm sending below and there you go. Then, just follow the instructions on the attachment and..
Some PotC communities, starting with probably the two most well known:
http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=arrrrr
http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=pirategasm
http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=potc_canon_fic
http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=caribbeandreams
http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=potc_fic
Ah, there's a good start above.. That'll certainly keep you busy posting, but you don't have to post to all of them if you don't wish to, but mainly the first three communities as they are the most traveled POTC LJ communities out there.
VOILA! You're DONE! All reviews to your story will fall into your E-Mail so you get to receive each and every one of them individually!
Oh, and people who are members of each of the communities that you cross post to, many of them are over at BPS, will check their 'Friends' list each day, as do I, and they will find your story cross posted under that days new posts to the community or communities they are members of. For instance, I'm a member of three Depp fan communities so when I cross posted the pics of Wonka on the cover of EW magazine, when I click on my FRIENDS list, it shows in all three communites as a new post.
Just so you get the thrill of getting that first LJ-generated e-mail, I'm copying THIS e-mail to your LJ! LOL.. sneaky, ain't I.
Well, good luck and just ring me if you need more assistance. Oh, and I still LOVE this fic. You'd best hurry and cross post both of these and soon. Arr, Pirategasm (don't be too afraid of the title) and PotC Canon are some of the best known Communities.
Learning the Ropes
Date: 2005-07-05 10:48 pm (UTC)Re: Learning the Ropes
Date: 2005-07-06 03:24 am (UTC)Even easier, here are a few communities that do only icons. They just post some they make and are free for the taking, but it's still expected to ask before taking and credit on your Comments within your Icon area of you LJ.
http://www.livejournal.com/userinfo.bml?user=potc_icons
http://www.livejournal.com/community/adopt_me/
... and there are hoards of others if you just search the word ICON and stick with the PotC communities in general. People sometimes post PotC Icons there for Fic writers.
I've just recently purchased Paint Shop Pro 7 and really am not very sure how yet to create all those brillian moving Icons. Something else i need to tackle... *sighs*
no subject
Date: 2005-07-05 09:29 pm (UTC)I don't think I commented on this when it went up at BPS...just want to say, I love this. Quite a contrast in tone and subject matter to Cat o'Nine Tails, but just as good! The insight that Jack is leaning on that oar to hold himself up and hiding his pain and weariness--I never thought of that, but it must be so.
His head pounded like a storm-tide against cliffs. His vision kept fading to dark and flashing lightning in time to
stabs of pain behind his eyes. And so he clung to the wavering oar with assumed nonchalance, forcing his shaking fingers to remain still. And he smiled. One did not bleed in water that swarmed with sharks.
Love the metaphors here. Made me shiver. Poor Jack.
I'm adding you, hope you don't mind. :-)
Friends
Date: 2005-07-05 10:40 pm (UTC)Thanks for dropping in. I dont' mind being added at all. I'm honoured.
no subject
Date: 2005-07-05 10:33 pm (UTC)Microscopes
Date: 2005-07-07 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-06 11:03 am (UTC)As an immortal himself, captain of a crew of men who could not die, it perhaps shouldn't have surprised Barbossa to see a dead man standing before him.
Hee! Good insight and clever use of it. I like your idea that he's actually clinging to that oar (with good reason) rather than just draped over it. And you've made an excellent point that Jack's most dangerous weapon is his mind. Great ficlet.
Dangerous Minds
Date: 2005-07-07 12:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-08 01:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-07-08 05:58 pm (UTC)